I was five the first time I saw someone die. It was the giant from next door. The doctors said his heart wasn’t big enough and he had a stroke while mowing his lawn. But that’s not really what happened. He died from a phone call. I know because I was there.
He was mowing his lawn, just like he did every Saturday. He looked ridiculous crammed on top of his little green rider mower. The neighbor kids sometimes came to watch. The giant would scowl at them if they giggled when he took breaks to stretch his legs. I was the only child watching him mow that day. It was while he was stretching that he got the phone call that killed him.
I didn’t know who had called or what was said. But I remember hearing a high gasp that seemed unnatural coming from such large lungs. The phone dropped as he raised his mighty hand to his chest. He stood there like that, frozen, like a statue. He looked glorious. For a moment his face was a canvas for his heart. I learned more about life in that instant than I have in all the ones to follow. I saw pain and sorrow unleashed and unchecked boiling through his eyes. There was torment there, and his motionless mouth voiced a terrible longing. I wanted to reach out to the man, but I also wanted to run away. I didn’t do either. Little did I know then, I was paralyzed by the realization of my own mortality.
I felt like the world was being torn away as his legs buckled from under him. It reminded me of the day my dad had yelled, “Timber!” as my old climbing tree fell.
I was shocked for a moment, after hearing the thud of the giant’s body hitting the ground. I kneeled in the street with just the sidewalk’s distance between us. No one came out of their houses. No one came to help. It was Saturday afternoon and I was alone with a dieing man.
His face was twitching. His body seemed to jolt a bit. I stood still, and soon he was as motionless as I was. His face cleared. His eyes went distant. He was peaceful. I was sure that he was dieing. And I was glad that he would leave this world smiling.
It didn’t seem strange to me at the time, to see a man die. He didn’t seem in pain. It was all so natural.
There was something horrifyingly beautiful about him as he died. It was like watching the sun set for the first time.
His face began to scrunch and release. He opened and closed his fist. I didn’t want to see anymore but his eyes seemed to plead for something. They focused and turned towards me. The man worked his mouth causing foamy white spit to run down his cheek. He reminded me of a dying fish. His lips moved but he made no sound.
I couldn’t tell you what made me inch closer to the man that terrified all children, but something about watching a man die does funny things to a person.
His fish mouth still opened and closed. His eyes still bearing through me, he managed:
“Until…” a pause. Another cough. “Until you,” he said just barely audible.
“find yourself in my shoes… you will never know how it feels…” He paused and wheezed a bit. His face lost color with every passing moment.
His mouth was moving again, I stepped closer, until I was just above his head. Then his enormous arm shot up, locking around the back of my neck and pulling me down. My forehead touched his forehead, my eyes to his eyes.
He coughed into my face. His breathe smelled like my grandma’s socks after she had worn them for a week. The weight of his arm was enough to pin my small body on top of his. I struggled until I choked under the mass of his arm.
So I laid there. I could feel the strength leaving him and hoped that I could wiggle away after he died. But then he spoke again:
“Until you find yourself in my shoes,” he whispered. “You will never know how it feels.”
Then a long pause caused me to hope the man had finally died. Until I felt his lungs go in and out in several labored breathes.
“Until you have placed yourself in my shoes, you won’t know how it feels to be broken and reborn,” he said.
I just remember lying there, pinned and scared. Thinking about stinky socks while running his last words through my mind.
Someone dialed 911 and an ambulance and the police showed up about five minutes later. They wanted to know why I was pinned under the arm of a dead giant. I told them that he was killed by phone call but they didn’t believe me.
My dad came running out of the house throwing his arms around me.
“Thank god you’re alright!” He said. He kissed my forehead, and then hugged me.
He took inside the house, and we drank orange juice together. We watched through the window as six men moved the giant onto a stretcher.
“Dad,” I said. “When he hit the ground, all I could think about was how you yelled ‘Timber!’ when our tree fell down.”
My dad shook his head and rustled my hair.
“It’s funny how insensitive the subconscious can be,” he said.
I smiled, “Yeah, you’re right,” I said. But I was five years old and didn’t know what the fuck he was talking about. |
